


Further Revelations

by corvidae9



Series: Revelations [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-08
Updated: 2006-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Harry and Draco come back from their impromptu holiday and face the press, shocked Gryffindors, disgusted Slytherins, fugitive Death Eaters, and the prospect of a month of nonstop revision, each more lethal than the last. They probably should have stayed in France.





	Further Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Revelations, for knitmeapony. Many millions of exponentially increasing thanks to my beta juice817, who 'doesn't like H/D' (PFfft), and yet went over this over and over and reality checked me and was just phenomenal because that's the sort of saint she is. Edited slightly from the original for many and sundry reasons.

> _**POTTER AND MALFOY MYSTERIOUSLY REAPPEAR**  
>  2 May, 1999 _
> 
> _London_ \- It appears that the infamous Harry J. Potter and Draco Malfoy have returned to London. Sources at the Customs desk at the Heathrow Port Key terminal have confirmed that they were indeed traveling together, and appeared "rather friendly" upon Disapparation from the terminal. 
> 
> "Oh yes," said a Customs officer that requested to remain anonymous, "it was definitely them. Mr. Malfoy asked me rather politely not to say anything about it. Of course, not much danger in saying so now he's gone, right? Nice lads - little weird they're... you know. After all of that. But a decent enough sort nonetheless." 
> 
> Though their whereabouts are currently unknown yet again, concerns for their safety have been raised in light of the recent attacks on Aurors and others known for resisting the Dark Lord. Of course, the Ministry maintains that they are more than willing to provide security for both Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy in light of their contributions to stopping the Dark Lord, but cannot seem to locate either (or both, as the case may be). 
> 
> It's clear to this reporter that their stubborn willfulness in refusing the assistance indicates that Mr. Potter's well-documented hero complex is indeed contagious. One can only hope that these young men encounter no further trouble in their oblivious paradise, but if they do, you can be certain that your Prophet will be there to cover it. 
> 
> \- Auror attacked at pub Friday night downgraded to stable condition, expected to make a full recovery - page 3  
>  \- Order of the Phoenix - fact or fairytale? page 5  
>  \- Top ten famous getaways in France - Travel, page 2  
>  \- Vote in the Prophet's poll for the next Most Eligible Bachelor - Life, page 1 

###

Three weeks and five days. 

Harry had just spent the past almost four weeks in the South of France with _Draco Malfoy_. It used to be this point in his most bizarre nightmares when the wave of three-legged zombie cats would rush over him and subsume him in a hail of dirt, claws and easy listening pseudo-rock, but this time he found that the very real days had gone all too quickly, and he was dreading going anywhere near home. He had a vivid pinch mark just above his left wrist, worried into existence roughly since about the time that he'd agreed to come, and probably not due to disappear anytime soon. Of course, it fortunately matched several bruises to be found scattered across his throat, shoulders, chest and other interesting places in coloration if not size, and therefore didn't stand out more than it otherwise might. 

Mercifully, he was not sunburned like many of the other well-to-do tourists, thanks to the minor miracle of sunscreen and the fact that they hadn't spent all that much time in the sun. Yet another thought that tended to make Harry bite the inside of his lip and smirk anywhere but at Draco. It was a look that Draco had quickly learned to pick up as the 'thinking dirty thoughts' expression, and he had perversely learned to further instigate with a licked lip or an unobtrusive grope. Damn him anyway. Harry was going to have to learn to fight back in kind with more than a tackle-pin, given specifically that this sort of response was fairly unacceptable in public. It had been a lesson learned early in this holiday, among quite a few others. 

Still, it was entirely surreal to find himself at one moment arriving at the Port Key terminal at Heathrow watching Draco slip the agent an ungodly amount of cash to not comment aloud on the names on their passports, and the next standing in the small back garden of Grimmauld Place with his arms wrapped tightly around said Slytherin, looking for a split-second about as apprehensive as Harry felt. 

Harry stood back and pocketed his wand after the Apparation, taking a deep breath. "All right. Hermione swears she and Ron are 'shocked, but wanting to talk, not kill', so it should be fine. Besides, they're not home anyway-- Sunday means dinner at the Burrow, which means there should be no one around so we- I can get settled in." Considering that they'd spent the better part of a month attached at the hip, in his head, Harry definitely meant 'we', but that entire line of thought was absolutely terrifying and mind-boggling, and he abandoned it. 

"Should have stayed in France. The language isn't all that hard to learn, honestly, and the wine and--" Draco stopped at Harry's sideways glance, half-smirking and half-sulking. "Oh well, hell." Looking up at the house, he slipped off his dark glasses as he stepped up to Harry again. "Fine." Draco set his hands on Harry's stomach and shoved him backward toward it. "But if your friends kill me, I will haunt you violently for the rest of your miserable life." 

Harry allowed himself to be shoved with only a little resistance that he wished was entirely feigned, covering his anxiety as best he could. "No one's going to kill you. And I've already asked them to make sure the hexes stay well away from your face and other imp- oof!" 

Eyes narrow, Draco had shoved him the rest of the way, not stopping his own forward progress until he was flush with Harry pressed flat to the back door. "Not funny, Potter." 

"Oh, yeah. I see that." Harry smiled, a dangerous quirk to the corner of his mouth as his hand squirmed back in a perfunctory pat for the doorknob, already critically distracted from actually finding it. 

Draco leaned in, tilting his head, his mouth bare inches from Harry's. "Do you?" 

Swallowing hard, Harry's free hand slid up Draco's arm, still vaguely shocked, and still entirely willing to disregard that in favor of focusing on his pulse pounding wildly and the utterly puzzle-perfect way they fit together. Without anything more coherent than an, "Uh huh," he pulled his head away from the door and kissed Draco hard, nipping at his lower lip with a small strangled moan at the hands that drifted further around Harry, dragging purposefully downward toward the small of his back. 

Somehow Harry managed to lift the latch, taking two quick steps back to keep his balance as the door opened inward. Draco, however, stumbled, falling forward onto Harry, the strangled, indignant sound in the back of his throat muffled into Harry's mouth, which he'd managed not to lose contact with. Harry laughed, releasing the door to hold him up more effectively, murmuring, "Figured we should get ins..." 

At the sound of a throat clearing from the other side of the room, Harry's eyes flew wide, locking with Draco's for a moment before tentatively turning toward the noise. Once jolted from his bubble of limited awareness, he realized that not only were Ron and Hermione in fact home, but they were apparently meeting with Arthur, Remus, Neville, Luna, Fred and George, all now staring in various states of utter disbelief (save for Luna, who was waving and mouthing 'hello'). Blinking, Harry pulled a vaguely green grimace. "Err. Hello?" 

Draco snorted and mumbled, "Nice," before pulling off his hat and ruffling his hair. He cleared his throat and offered a wry, almost-smile to the assembled group. "Good afternoon. Killing me would add to Potter's considerable mental trauma and would be a piss-poor way to pay back a confirmed war hero." 

Predictably Fred and George were the first to recover, grinning and winking and already moving on to the obscene gestures, but were stopped dead by a stern look from both Arthur and Hermione. Draco made to pull away, but Harry only let go of him with one hand, refusing to release him entirely. 

It was Remus who spoke first with a pointed look around the room, "No one's going to kill you here. It's-- err-- did you have a good holiday?" 

"Smashing," Draco deadpanned as the twins looked to be biting their lips with barely restrained glee. 

Harry shifted in the uncomfortable silence, practically able to feel Ron's glare even as he returned Luna's happy little wave, slowly moving toward the sitting room and tugging Draco along with him. "I'm-- we're going upstairs. Long trip. I brought gifts. For, um. later. After a nap, maybe." His entire face was flushed bright red, suddenly jealous of Draco's smug nonchalance. 

Luna piped up as they began moving faster, "Hermione reinforced the Imperturbables on your room so you can nap as loudly as you like. Don't mind us." The twins finally burst out laughing, and Neville buried his face in his arms outsretched on the table in front of him. Ron shoved at Luna's shoulder muttering darkly about information he didn't need and Hermione merely set her jaw and exchanged a look with Remus- a silent declaration that clearly said she was on the verge of killing not one, but _two_ blondes, his answering look reminding her not to and why. 

"Handy. Thanks, Granger," Draco smirked as Harry shoved him bodily through the doorway. Harry popped back through into the kitchen momentarily, jaw set, jabbing his finger in the general direction of everyone in the room, failing miserably to say whatever he was trying to say. Instead he threw his hands up and exited back into the hall where Draco was standing, looking unbearably amused. 

"Don't," Harry warned. Draco tilted his head with a look of mock sympathy and Harry growled, "I'm serious." 

"Nap? I hear there are some possibly acceptable Imperturbables in place." 

Harry continued to glare, missing entirely the hesitance just under the surface of Draco's flip commentary-- he'd had years of perfecting the art of hiding it, after all, and Harry was relatively new at trying to work him out from this sort of close proximity. Draco let the faint smile drop and looked away. "Ah. Right. I'll go, then. You could come by once your _friends_ are sure you're not under an Imperius. Or whatever." His eyes darted toward the kitchen door where a low rumble of conversation was just now starting up again and he almost smirked again, "But I'm going out the front door." 

As Draco made to move away, Harry caught his arm. "No. Stay. I didn't... don't want you to go." 

Brow furrowed, Draco studied Harry briefly before leaning in and kissing him; thoroughly and enthusiastically, the fingers of one hand somehow making their way up into his hair and tightening through the dark, messy strands. As they broke apart, already breathing hard, Draco stayed close and murmured, "I _do_ have to go h-- back to my flat. Apologies - I've no desire to witness the righteous Gryffindor fury around here." 

It was understood, to be certain. Harry had to struggle not to ask to come with him, due in part to the fact that he'd have to walk right back into that kitchen and have the most awkward conversation he'd ever had in his life. (It would by far outstrip the conversation with the security guard who had informed him that he'd forgotten to cast an Imperturbable that day on the beach about a week into their holiday and-- well. _That_ had been _awkward_.) "Sure you're going to be alright? You saw what Hermione wrote about the attacks..." 

"'Mfine. No one knows where I live, and it's warded securely." Draco smirked, nudging Harry's cheek. "Well, except you, but for the most part, I know how to keep the rabble out. Survived well enough before you started hanging about, after all." 

Stubborn, Harry insisted, "It's not Unplottable." 

"Next best thing. " 

Harry sighed, knowing his only alternative was to ask whether Draco was willing to stay at Grimmauld, and that prospect was again far too frightening. Instead, he murmured, "When... err-- when will I see you again?" As it was, the words felt strange in his mouth; entirely foreign and yet the only obvious next question that absolutely needed answering. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow, not bothering to suppress a wicked grin. "How long can you stand to keep your grubby hands off of me?" 

### 

He'd seen Draco to the front door and watched until he Disapparated at the end of the walk - it was Harry's house, after all, and that's what you did. He also told himself that there was no reason to be worried or disquieted by the fact that he'd felt the crack of Draco's Apparating all the way in the pit of his stomach and telling himself that he definitely was not wondering what to do next. Taking a deep breath, Harry shut the door and walked back through the house to the kitchen. Scrubbing a hand through his hair as he entered, he went directly to the icebox, registering that the room was not nearly as full as it had been when he first passed through. Regardless, he didn't bother meeting anyone's eyes, still willing away the exceedingly bizarre feeling that Draco not within arm's reach put him on edge enough to need a drink. "Alright, I'll bite. What was the meeting about?" 

Ron narrowed his eyes. " _You_. Disappearing to Merlin knows where for a _bloody month_ to _shag Malfoy_ and whether we should come rescue you, but apparently you don't need the _rescuing_. A _month_ , Harry! _Malfoy_!" 

Harry set his jaw, retrieved a butterbeer and slammed the icebox door, using his low, boiling seethe to flick at the cap and Banish it wandlessly. Finally looking up to see that Ron and Hermione were in fact the only others there, he nodded calmly. "I see. Hermione?" 

Ron's chair scraped back loudly as he stood violently, shaking Hermione's hand off of his forearm. "Don't give me 'I see'; Harry, _how_?" 

"Stop it, Ron! We can--" Hermione said evenly, though Harry's answer rolled right on over hers. 

"I Don't. Fucking. Know. Alright?" 

"But you knew enough to _go on holiday_?" 

Raising her voice slightly, Hermione interrupted again, this time in a tone that made it clear she would not be ignored. "Ron, _stop_ \- we said we were going to _talk_ about this, not shout." 

Exasperated, Ron jabbed his finger in Harry's direction, speaking to Hermione over his outstretched arm. "Yeah Hermione, but that was before he fell in through the door attached to Malfoy _at the face_. I say that changes the rules!" 

Harry narrowed his eyes. Confused and defensive, he purposefully prodded Ron on. "How's that different? Did worse than that on holiday. _In public_ , no less. Sort of entertaining, really." 

"It's different because I didn't have to bloody well _see_ my best mate snogging the bastard who spent a lifetime reminding me of how much better than me he is, and then proved it by being there for you when I wasn't." 

Silence reigned as Harry and Hermione both stared at Ron, who looked shocked to have said what he had out loud. After a long, long moment, Harry cleared his throat and spoke. "Ron. It's not like that. You _did_ -" 

"..Not enough. The story of my life," Ron muttered darkly. "Ah, sod it. I should go. Should do whatever you bloody well want in _your own house_." 

Physically moving to block Ron's path to the door, Harry cocked his head. "Come on, mate. You live here too, don't do that." Ron's jaw was set, looking anywhere but at Harry. "Ron. I would never have gotten as far as I did without you and Hermione, you know that; I know you do. So don't-- don't make that an excuse. If I had to choose between you and..." Harry's eyes darted away and back; he'd choose Ron and Hermione, there wasn't a doubt. But there also shouldn't be a need, he hoped. _Fervently._ "Don't make me, yeah? Please?" 

Ron jumped as Hermione's hand landed on his elbow, and automatically, he tugged on it, pulling her forward and under his arm and tucking the other around her in a comfortable, friendly embrace, hanging his head in obvious thought for a long moment. 

Muffled against Ron's jumper, Hermione said, "We won't." She turned and held a hand out to Harry, shaking it once as he hesitated in taking it. "Get over here, would you?" 

Obviously torn, Harry looked to Ron for confirmation. Though his face was still downcast, he murmured, "Missing a side here, mate." 

Harry set the bottle down on whatever available surface was nearest and walked right into the tangle of his best friends with a sigh, holding them tightly and finally feeling as though he was home. 

Hermione spoke next, her voice low. "We were worried about you, Harry. You saw what's been happening..." 

"...which is why owls from anyone but you mysteriously found themselves Confunded and fluttering back here." Harry finished for her as he stood back a little. "By the way, thank you for handling that." 

"Bloody Prophet. Sent at least two wankers tracking the owls. Ended up skulking about the street," Ron grumbled. His face lit suddenly, bearing an uncomfortable resemblance to the twins. "Neighbor's dog mysteriously slipped his leash and chased one of them down the street. Screamed like a girl the whole way, he did." 

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed with a half-hearted smack to his arm. "You didn't tell me!" 

"It was entertaining. And he deserved it! And! I put the dog back afterward and gave him a treat. No harm done." 

"Good job you did," Harry smiled. "Wish I'd seen it." 

"Could've, if you hadn't been traipsing off with the Ferret, yeah?" 

"...Ron--" 

Clearing his throat, Ron muttered, preempting whatever Harry had been about to say. "Listen - just. Don't make us watch that sort of... whatever all that often, right? As in, ever, if you can help it." 

With an amused snort in concert with Hermione's groan, Harry opened his mouth to say something entirely incendiary, and predictably, her hand was suddenly covering it. "Don't do it, Harry. We don't want to know." 

### 

Upon arriving at his flat, Draco found himself standing in the center of the sitting room at a loss for what to do next, not that he would ever admit such to anyone. Especially not Potter.

Potter, with whom he'd just spent the last three bloody weeks and five sodding days on holiday. Who was out of reach and in his grubby old house with his Gryffindor friends, who were at this moment probably patting him down and checking him for curse damage. The entire situation was beginning to resemble his strangest and most bone-chilling dreams. In fact, all that lacked was his father strolling in to inform him that he was adopted and was actually a Weasley by birth-- that was usually where Draco would wake panting and in a cold sweat. Of course, given that his father was dead, he was likely safe from such an eventuality, or so Draco fervently hoped.

If Draco had in fact admitted that for a split second he didn't know what to do himself now, then it was entirely possible that he would have perhaps followed that thought with the fact that it was entirely possible that he was jealous. Scathingly, seethingly, kick-the-nearest-piece-of-furniture jealous, and not necessarily of Potter's friends. After all, Draco had had the opportunity to pat him down fairly incessantly for almost a month.

Even that thought failed to bring a smirk to his face, however, in the face of his towering, crushing unbearable envy at the fact that no one cared really that he had been abducted by Harry sodding Potter, bane of his existence. (Regardless of the fact that he had proven passable company and eminently beddable, Draco held off on rescinding this title. A wise move evident in the fact that Potter was now causing him distress from across the bloody town.)

For all the months he spent stalking Potter and staying out of sight of the Ministry and the Order, at the very least he knew he had Parkinson, Nott, Zabini, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle to go to if necessary. The logic of it wasn't something he would ever be able to explain to Potter or his kind. It was purely Slytherin and like to break their fragile sense of good and bad, right and wrong; their precious 'light' and 'dark'-- terms that put Draco in mind of bad Gothic literature, when it came to it.

The fact was, it didn't matter whether his friends agreed with their parents, or whether they were even directly involved in supporting the Dark Lord. Draco was one of their own, and quietly doing what he needed to do to keep his family, and more importantly, himself, in one piece. In further point of fact, and the part that might break a Gryffindor altogether, was the knowledge that someone who considered Draco a friend would continue to do so, even if what Draco did was not necessarily 'right'... as long as said friend remained unaffected by his doings. Hell, Pansy and Theo had even met for him for his birthday last year in a back alley pub in Barcelona.

He finally tossed aside his miniaturized luggage, poured himself a tall drink, and sank into the chair that tended to receive the brunt of Draco's abuse. He knew better than anyone that the keywords in this rant taking place inside his head were 'quietly' and 'unaffected'. Now that his part in Voldemort's defeat was public, all he had was a return owl from Pansy and Theo saying they were of course glad he was alive and wondering whether he was planning on suing the Prophet for libel over the business with Potter.

Given the tone, he'd put off answering. Perhaps in person it would be easier to discuss.

Briefly squashing an unbidden urge to find out what Potter was doing now, he instead heaved himself out of his seat and made his way to the bedroom and resettled at his writing desk. With a brief glance at the too-neat, and too-empty bed, he downed the rest of his drink and began to write.

### 

"You can't be serious. It's _May_." 

Draco continued to push the parchment from McGonagall across the table, stubborn in the face of Harry's utter knee-jerk refusal to consider that Draco and Hermione might actually have more in common than either would probably care to admit. "What? I've got more than a month, and not a sodding thing to do besides. Well, one-- or do you suppose you count as mor-" He stopped that line of thought with a small smirk before he continued, "Alright. The point is that I'm the first in several centuries of my family's history to have left school with nothing to show for it and still be breathing, and that is absolutely unacceptable." 

Harry's jaw was set as he listened, finally murmuring an obviously disgruntled, "Fine." 

Without really hearing what Harry said, Draco went on. "The way I see it, the only drawback is having to study on my own, but no matter; I'm sure I can flash my bloody Order of Merlin at someone and get them to help me if I need it. Now, if _you_ wanted to study with me, we might be able to cover a little more ground-- then again, considering Granger got your arse through school, maybe not..." 

Raising his voice a little further, Harry repeated, "Fine!" 

"-- _Fine_? As in, 'fine do what you want because I'm just barely clever enough to know you'll do it anyway and I may as well tag along'? Or fine, as in 'I absolutely cannot resist the unfallible logic and debating skills of my--' err... yeah. That sort of fine?" 

"Fine, as in I'll study for the bloody things with you." Harry sulked, though he found difficulty exactly in remembering _why_ , given that the only reason he'd said 'no' to begin with was due to guilt over Draco. A problem that was currently solved to relative satisfaction, if the blond now shoving him into the armchair and straddling his lap was any indication. "On one condition." 

Suddenly suspicious, Draco cocked his head and sat back on Harry's knees, hands stilling on his sweatshirt. "What?" 

"We're studying with Ron and Hermione." 

The face that Draco made in response to that pronouncement would have been entirely comical if Harry hadn't known for years that it was usually followed with a nasty sting of threats, curses and/or obscenities. This time all he did was echo Harry's earlier exclamation of disbelief. 

"You can't be serious." 

"Well, why not? You said it yourself, Hermione got me and Ron through school. She's bloody brilliant." 

Exasperated, Draco furrowed his brow with a shallow, vehement headshake. "Oh for godsake Potter, _I'm_ brilliant. I'll have you know I worked my own arse off for her to be able to kick it soundly every sodding year." 

Harry blinked, mouth open in a rough sonic approximation of an ellipsis sort of hanging in the air between them. He didn't necessarily _want_ to doubt Draco, but some things were just the way they were. 

Slumping slightly, Draco murmured, disgruntled, "But you _know_ Granger," to which Harry could only nod, settling a tentative hand on Draco's thigh. Draco's gaze dropped to his own hands now settled low on Harry's sweatshirt. After a long pause he looked up again, his tone completely serious. "Have you any idea how much restraint I'm exhibiting right now just not casting aspersions on her and the Weasel, their families, lineage, lack of intelligence and personal hygiene? They're not even in the room! Do you want to be responsible for that sort of chaos until this is over?" 

Harry met his eyes with lightning speed at that last sentence and Draco added quickly, "Until the _revision_ is over. After NEWTs. And of course you don't care about causing chaos. You bloody well _are_ chaos incarnate. It's ridiculous." Draco rolled his eyes, sitting forward again to snarl, "Disgraceful." 

Cracking a wry grin, Harry's nose twitched as he smiled and leaned in, taking that as agreement whether it was or not. "I suppose I'll have to find some way to make it up to ymmpphh--" 

At some brief pause not so much later, Draco breathed hard in his ear, "Not if I find it first." 

### 

Ron scowled as Pig flew right past his outstretched arm to land in front of Draco, toppling a little under the weight of the package he held as it resettled on the tabletop. 

Draco looked up, already annoyed that they'd been left to inhabit the same room on their own for the... oh. Half hour that Harry and Hermione had been gone, and grumbled, "Weasel. Do something about your rat." Pig however, hooted proudly and held up his foot --or at least tried-- and Draco huffed, "Fine. Pathetic thing," as he made to untie it. 

"Oi. Watch your mouth, Ferret," snarled Ron, snatching the package as it came away from Pig's foot. "'S my owl, anyway." 

"Yes. Which explains why it's such a dimwitted excuse for its kind," Draco said, glaring. 

Still scowling as he examined the package, he finally handed it roughly to Draco without quite looking at him. "Choke on it, Malfoy." 

Eyeing the package suspiciously, though he had no choice but to take it, Draco wrinkled his nose. "Is it cursed?" 

"God, I hope so," muttered Ron as he resumed his place at the furthest possible end of the table from Draco. 

Draco checked it for curses, and though it seemed clean, opened it gingerly nonetheless, and as far away from his face as he could manage it. A delicious smell wafted up from the wrapping as it came away, and the corners of his mouth turned slowly upward though his stomach growled loudly as he read the accompanying note. "...Weasel? It's from your mother," Draco said, tone as filthy and insidious as he could manage. 

Ron shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the table as he stood and Draco's chair scraped backward, hand on the hilt of his wand. "I fucking swear to God, I'm going to--" 

Holding the note up, Draco tilted his head. "Shortbread and the promise of plenty more. My thank you for convincing Potter to sit his NEWTs." He peered into the tin with exaggerated care. "Ooh. Chocolate." 

Fuming, Ron kicked his chair, hands clenching, clearly weighing just how much it was worth to not whale on Draco, and finally, he turned on his heel and stomped out, muttering something that sounded like, "the things I will bloody well do for H--" 

Draco sat back and leisurely took a biscuit, still nibbling on the first one as Harry and Hermione came back from their errand. Harry crossed the room and leaned over Draco's shoulder, peering over and taking the opportunity to steal a kiss and murmur, "Mm. What's that?" 

"Where's Ron?" Hermione asked, setting the bag of take away on the table between piles of books. 

Smiling oh, so innocently, one hand snaking up and around Harry's neck, Draco turned away from him briefly-- just long enough to hold the tin out toward Granger with his free hand. "No clue. Shortbread?" 

### 

It was ten minutes to two in the afternoon, roughly one week into his self-imposed misery of revision and Draco was sitting slouched in his infamous chair, staring at his wand and putting off Apparating to his destination, reasoning that it was gauche to arrive early anywhere. 

If pressed (rather viciously), he might admit that Granger's revision schedule from hell was remarkably efficient given the limited time frame they had to work with. This should probably not have come as a surprise, taking into account the fact that she was used to having to manage Potter and the Weasel, but it did leave Draco with yet more admissions he was unwilling to make. Of course, the simply spiffing thing about not answering to anyone anymore was that he did not have to make said admissions if he damn well did not want to. 

Still, he had begged off for the afternoon and managed to shake Potter specifically for the visit he was about to make, and yet he continued to dread it severely. Charging into such situations without a thought was reserved for idiots and Gryffindors and while he was... curiously attached to one _for the moment_ , he would rather be dead than confused for one. Perhaps not _dead_. Perhaps something just short of death, but wildly unpleasant nonetheless. 

At precisely two o'clock, Draco stood, straightened his robes and Apparated to the front walk of the Parkinson-Nott estate. Back straight, chin high, he closed the distance to the door and raised his hand to knock and was not entirely surprised as the door swung open before his fingers even made contact with the knocker. He braced himself for the grating hash of house elf English only to be greeted by Pansy's sweetest, most mellifluous tones. 

"How lovely to see you Draco, darling. It's been far too long. Do come in." 

Draco raised the barest fraction of an eyebrow; her tone and manner clearly indicated something was amiss, but rules dictated he answer in kind, after all. Flashing his Charming Company smile, he inclined his head as he crossed the threshhold. "Pansy, dearest- you look wonderful. I've nothing but my abject apologies for not coming to see you sooner." He set his hand on her upper arm and kissed her cheek; still polite yet a little more friendly, he continued, "Watching for me, were you?" 

Pansy's smile pulled further back, nose wrinkling wickedly and Draco finally relaxed a little further - this was normal. "I knew you wouldn't be late. 

With a nod, Draco cocked a smug eyebrow and drawled, "Punctuality is a sign of good breeding." 

"Ah, then, I remain unsurprised," Pansy said, holding out her hand. "Come on. We'll have tea and then perhaps I'll give you a tour of the estate and the grounds. It seems I've finally acquired that pony you promised me." 

"I hadn't forgotten, you know. I would have bought it for you," Draco said as he took her hand and was led to the elegantly delicate downstairs sitting room, currently flooded with afternoon sun. 

"I know, darling. But Theo beat you to it," Pansy said. She made to snap her well-manicured fingers, ostensibly for the house elf, but stopped mid-motion, dropping her hand as some unidentified emotion flickered across her face. "Waiting for you to refocus your attention on me became tiresome." 

"Ouch." Draco rubbed one hand over his heart as he lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles before releasing it. He didn't think to question the aborted snap, but filed it away for later reference. "I've apologized, I'm sure. I was consumed with the business of being heir to a poorly-chosen legacy, but you were always on my mind." 

Pansy's mouth quirked into a petulant moue as she took a seat in a wide, low-backed chair. She crossed her legs and carefully rearranged her sea-green summer robes before resting her hands regally on the armrests. Draco had to admit, the overall effect would have been very impressive to anyone but himself-- Pansy had always been the one who dreamed of playing queen of the castle. "About that." She indicated that he should sit in the smaller chair nearest her. "We should probably talk first." 

Draco sat, resting one elbow on his own armrest, dropping his chin onto the back of his hand, remaining outwardly amused. "I thought so. Where's Theo?" 

Her eyes bored into him as she spoke. "Out on business. He'll be back tomorrow. Which would be why you're here today." 

Staring right back at her, Draco nodded once, smirk firmly in place, though it was currently becoming harder to maintain. 

"Don't tell me you didn't see this coming," Pansy said, her too-sweet voice gone thin and hard. "Or has Potter's _cock_ in your _arse_ muddled your thinking so much that you've forgotten the way of the world?" 

She was right in some respect-- he _had_ known this would happen. Pansy may as well have been following a script. "I shouldn't sue the _Prophet_ for libel, then?" 

"Considering it's been verified to my satisfaction that you're shagging Potter within an inch of his miserable life, I'm thinking you should give them a reward instead for not publishing sordid details. Honestly, Draco, parading around _on holiday_ thinking no one would know better was just sloppy." 

"How so?" Stomach turning, hands gone clammy, Draco regarded her closely as he leaned back in his seat. "Please, enlighten me." 

"Anyone who _knows_ you could have put together where you'd gone, _darling_ ," Pansy said, mouth pinched. "Be glad no one thought to ask us before you came back. _Any_ of us." 

Draco didn't need to ask why he should be glad. "I understand." 

"Do you?" Pansy bit off. "I'm risking quite a lot having you here today. I took every precaution to make sure you wouldn't be seen and have at least ten excuses in case you were." 

"Of course," he drawled, working hard at appearing disinterested in spite of the ice currently working its way down his spine. 

"Draco, this is _not_ a _game_. Now that your exploits are _public_ , there are people out there that will actively seek you out. Former _associates_ of yours, as I'm sure you can guess. If it takes them weeks or months or _years_ , one of them is going to find you. I-- _we_ simply cannot be involved, but I know..." Her brow furrowed slightly, her facade cracking slightly for the first time and revealing more of the girl he knew. "I thought you should know. I thought you should hear it from me. You need to be careful and watch your fucking back because... because none of us will be able to do much to help you _visibly_. Not anymore." 

Setting his hands on his knees, Draco stood, polite as ever, oddly calmer now that what he feared would happen had actually occurred. "Well. I certainly understand your position, dearest, and I am, as you can imagine, grateful for your advice. Unfortunately, it appears that I have suddenly recalled an urgent appointment that regrettably, cannot be neglected. I do hope you'll forgive me if I pass on tea and a tour of your fine home?" 

Pansy popped to her feet and took a breath, her eyes curiously shiny. "The wards are set to allow you to Apparate out from here." She reached up carefully and set a hand on his face, stretched up to kiss the opposite cheek and murmured, "Put that idiot Gryffindor to good use and make him watch your back while it lasts, darling. I couldn't stand it if--" 

"Give Theo my love, pet," Draco interrupted quietly as he returned the kiss briefly, stood back and Disapparated. 

Upon arrival, he realized with much chagrin that he had gone directly to 12 Grimmauld rather than his flat. Raising his wand in order to correct the mistake and go home, he hesitated. Instead, he took a breath, pocketed his wand and began up the walk, eyes roving left and right, wracked with momentary paranoia, Pansy's words ringing loudly in his mind. His ears strained to hear telltale cracking, cursing himself for being an idiot as he practically jogged the last five feet and shoved the door open in a rush. Pausing in the doorway, Draco was sure he was imagining the rustling shrub to be anything more than the wind or perhaps passing cars or a bloody, buggering reporter, but his fingers tightened on the door and he slammed it shut nonetheless. He stalked straight to the library, throwing open the door and walking right up beside Harry's seat. 

"Potter. A word. _Now_ ," Draco demanded in an imperious tone that made both Granger and the Weasel look up immediately from across the table full of books. 

Harry grimaced and made a show of looking at Draco's hand currently gripping his elbow, clearly unimpressed and ready for a fight, "'M sorry _what_?" 

Jaw set, Draco swallowed, willing Potter to understand and just shut his damn mouth and _listen_ , but his stupid, obstinate face showed no comprehension whatsoever. Eyes darting to Granger and the Weasel, his expression softened just barely as he murmured sincerely, "Please?" 

That did it. Harry was on his feet in an instant, cocking his head toward the door. "Yeah, ok. Come on." 

Relieved, Draco willingly went, waiting only until the door shut behind Harry to turn and wind his arms around Harry's shoulders, jaw clamped painfully tight. Disgusted with himself, angry with the state of the world, hating his parents and his choices and lack thereof, wanting to hex Granger and the Weasel senseless and determined to hate Potter for being _Harry_ , his resolve failed at the last and he clung, regardless of how ridiculous he felt.

Harry, to his credit, said nothing for a long moment, merely letting his hands rest tentatively on Draco's back. To be fair, he was probably too shocked to do much more, but eventually he said quietly, "Alright?" 

"I hate Gryffindors," mumbled Draco without hesitation, unwilling to share any of his conversation with Pansy. "And I need a drink." 

###

Draco frowned and threw the unfamiliar pencil hard against the notebook covered in painfully neat equations with a huff, sulking and staring and turning to the seat next to him to see if Harry was paying any attention at all. Unfortunately, it appeared that Harry was fast asleep, his face smashed against his open Charms text, mouth partially open, glasses askew. Without giving it much thought, Draco reached out and slipped the glasses from his face carefully, folding them and setting them next to the book even as Harry mumbled and shifted in his sleep. Draco pushed a bit of Harry's fringe uselessly back from his forehead, oblivious to the barely perceptible softening of his own expression until he turned to face Granger, who was now watching him intently from across the table. "What?" he sneered automatically. 

Her eyes flicked from Draco to Harry and back, likely reminding herself why she was obviously making a serious effort at civility. "You still haven't worked it out either, have you?" She pointed at Draco's open notebook with her own pencil even as he began to pull a grimace. "Lenscherr's theorem-- it's... amazingly complex. I'm... having trouble working out how it relates to the basic theories of predicting spell degeneration past the second iteration." 

After the barest pause, Draco muttered, "It's not the second iteration that's in question necessarily, it's what happens when it's applied to a bloody buggering _animate_ as opposed to an inert organic form." He dragged a hand through his hair as he pointed, obviously annoyed, though keeping his voice down. "The variables brought into play are... pfft. Of literally _stupid_ complexity." 

Hermione's attention had been diverted entirely to the subject at hand once he started speaking, and when he was done, she cleared her throat and began expounding quietly on why she had a problem with the postulate. As she did, Draco poked at the numbers and symbols, highlighting what they agreed was key in understanding what came next and neither even registered _who_ exactly it was they were speaking to until Ron re-entered the room and set a tray heavily on the thick table with a shuddery 'clank'. 

"Having a good time, are we?" Ron scowled predictably in Draco's direction. 

Harry had jumped a little at the thump of the tray and was now blinking slowly and murmuring about his glasses, hand patting for them before he was even fully awake. Scowling right back at Ron, Draco set his hand on Harry's shoulderblade. "Oh, well done, Weasel. Got a brass band you can call in while you're at it?" 

"No, but I bet I could think of something I could--" 

"Thank you, Ron! I was just about starved," Hermione interjected. "Come on and sit. It was sweet of you to offer to get tea, but you've been gone a while and now you're behind schedule." 

Slumping into the seat next to Hermione, Ron continued to glare at Draco. "Yeah? Well, next time send your new best friend while I sit my arse here and try and beat this useless shite back into my head." 

"I'll help," growled Draco. 

Harry sat up a little further as he slipped on his glasses, murmuring, "Stop." 

"If this _oaf_ had any sense of--" 

"Draco, come on--," said Harry. 

Ron pointed at Harry, vindicated. "There, see? He _wanted_ to be woken up so he could suffer along with the rest of us." 

Again Harry spoke, his level of annoyance clearly increasing. "Ron..." 

Draco sneered at Ron, "You'd think eight or so years of forced association with cretins like you might have been suffering enou-" 

"GOD DAMN IT," Harry swore loudly. Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands, too exhausted to properly peacekeep, but all eyes were on Harry now shrugging Draco's hand off and apparently doing a good enough job of peacekeeping on his own. "Can we please fucking act like adults?" He stood and snatched a sandwich off of the tray with a darkly muttered, "thanks," before sitting again. "And would someone explain why the hell a shoe needs to be a Venomous Tentacula in the bloody first place?" 

Swallowing his mouthful of pumpkin juice, Ron growled, "I'll do it. You two--" he pointed vaguely at Draco and then Hermione, sounding slightly disgruntled, "--keep talking this crazy shite I don't understand." 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with a snort of amusement as Draco answered, indignant. "Don't you _dare_ tell me what to do." 

"Brilliant," Harry said, speaking to Ron, disregarding Draco's comment. "Get over here." 

Draco fumed as Hermione sat up again and sighed, "Shall we?" 

Unwilling to let Granger and the Weasel out-mature him, Draco squared his shoulders and peered down his nose at Hermione, his tone icy. "I suppose that's _the plan_." Draco could feel Harry wince as he peeled Harry's fingers off of his knee under the table and cast them aside roughly in order to move closer to Granger of all people. 

Good. It was going to be a long night. 

### 

"That's not normal, Hermione. It's just... not." 

Hermione rolled her eyes to look up at Ron standing just over her shoulder to peek through the same cracked doorway that she was. "Of course it's not normal. It's Harry, what does he know about normal?" 

Ron continued to scowl as he watched Harry and Draco sitting in the giant overstuffed chair, heavy book open across their laps, Harry's arm around Draco and holding it open as Draco held his wand on the shoe currently on the side table. There appeared to be some bickering over whether he was doing it correctly, but in general, it seemed relatively companionable. Actually-- from the disappearance of Draco's hand and the resulting yelp from Harry as the book went flying, probably more than companionable in ways that Ron would rather not think about. "This is far more abnormal than his usual abnormality, Hermione, I'm serious. Look at him! And _Malfoy_ of all people." 

"Ron, Harry needs someone to watch out for. Someone who'll do the same for him and won't go falling all over her-- err-- _him_ self at the thought of dating 'The Boy Who Lived'. Much as I hate to admit it... Maybe this isn't as bad as we-" 

"Are you watching Harry and Draco? I don't blame you. They're very entertaining." 

Ron and Hermione both straightened immediately, the top of Hermione's head connecting with Ron's chin with with a clack and mumbled curses. Ron hissed, "No!" as Hermione muttered, "Yes," each rubbing their respective hurts as they stared at Luna in between shooting each other dirty looks. 

Wide eyes on them, Luna only smiled. "Ah." 

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Ron asked uncharitably, in the process of completely disregarding what Hermione had had the audacity to suggest. 

Seemingly not aware of his tone, Luna held up a book. "The Headmistress sent me. Harry asked for materials on the Arithmancy requirements and who better to deliver it than the Junior Arithmancy Professor-in-Training?" 

Furrowing his brow, Ron muttered, "An owl?" 

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said with another pointed glance for Ron. "I'll make sure he gets it." 

"Harry didn't take Arithmancy," Ron said, brow furrowed, "And _you_ don't ever need help." 

"Malfoy did," said Hermione. "And as odd as it sounds, we're still working on understanding that theorem. It's fairly advanced and we seem to have hit a wall." 

Ron grimaced and deadpanned, "Lovely. Well. I think this is where I go quietly insane. If you'll excuse me--" 

"That's wise." Luna said, nodding in agreement. "Most people who go insane do so quietly, otherwise someone would notice and put a stop to it. It isn't usually until they're fully insane that the speaking in tongues begins and then _everyone_ seems to get involved." Unphased by Ron staring at her as if she was from another planet, she smiled and took a step closer. "In fact, I'll come with you. I happen to know there's a bottle of scotch that Remus has been hiding away in the pantry, and last time I was here, he said I should help myself. Maybe I could help myself to a very tall glass and then share it with you?" 

Clearly conflicted, Ron finally shrugged and tossed a hand up. "Sure, yeah. Could use a drink. Hermione?" 

Busily peering at Luna, Hermione finally shook her head, "No thank you. I don't particularly care for scotch." 

Luna took Ron's elbow awkwardly, as he hadn't offered it. "Are you sure? I'd share with you too, but it sounds as if you'd rather not join us at all." 

"Well-spotted, Luna. I've got... things. Things that need doing far from... the pantry. And scotch in general. But you have a good time, alright?" Hermione blinked and retreated a step holding up the book, forcing a smile for Luna, ignoring Ron's pleading look. "And thanks again! Please let Professor Vector know how much I appreciate this. And Harry. And Draco. They do too, that is. Thanks!" 

Ron watched her run up the stairs for only a second longer before turning to Luna. "Wonder what her problem is?" 

"She's spent too much time shut up here with you?" Luna blinked, as if explaining the simplest of maths. 

"Gee, thanks, Luna," Ron snorted. 

"I'm absolutely serious," Luna said. "She has no frame of reference. Her canaries are still circling you because they have nowhere else to go." 

"You leave her canaries out of this." 

"They're very nice canaries, Ronald." 

"I don't think about her canaries like that, _Luna_. This is _Hermione_ we're talking about." 

"That doesn't stop them from being canaries." 

Ron stared at her. "...We're not talking about canaries, I know. But what _are_ we talking about?" 

Cocking her head at him, Luna patted his arm. "Let's have some scotch."

###

 

With NEWTs beginning little more than a week away, Draco padded downstairs at an ungodly hour of the morning, hand on the back his neck trying to work out the kinks. He yawned extravagantly as he pushed through the kitchen door, barely registering the fact that he was not the only one in the room. Cheerfully murmuring, "Weasel. Granger," he went directly to the coffee pot, taking one mug down from the shelf overhead, pursing his lips consideringly and finally deciding on two. Upon filling them, he dumped sugar but no cream in both, setting the spoons to stir them before he thought to look up again. 

Granger and the Weasel were staring. Or rather, the Weasel was openly staring; Granger was making a pathetic attempt to hide her gaping behind a book suddenly set on end, foolishly kicking at the Weasel's foot (easily visible from the distance at which Draco was standing). In retrospect, it might have been advisable for Draco to have slipped a shirt or a dressing gown on, but he'd figured the low-slung pyjama bottoms would do. Honestly, he hadn't expected to run into anyone at all, so in Draco's mind, this easily translated to their fault entirely. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Yes. Were you attacked by Blood-Sucking Acromantulas?" the Weasel asked with mindless disgust, obviously referring to the impressive set of marks Draco was currenly sporting, and had been since... well. He was fairly certain they'd only sort of migrated about since he'd dragged Potter off to France. Granger hissed the Weasel's name and smacked his arm, not that _that_ had ever worked, and Draco smiled languidly as he set the spoon on the counter and picked up the mugs. 

"What can I say? Potter does more than adequate work. Enthusiastically, I might add." Even as the Weasel sputtered and blanched, Draco smirked and backed through the doorway, holding the mugs with exaggerated care. "Pardon me. I do believe I'll see if he's interested in another round before we get to the tedious revision. Big day ahead." 

Draco sighed happily at the sound of Granger's nattering followed by something heavy hitting the ground in the kitchen as he made his way down the corridor. It was too much to hope that the sound had been Granger's body, but if the Weasel stayed that easy to rile up... well. He could only keep trying. 

### 

Ron scratched his neck, his face already red as he cornered Harry in the upstairs corridor just before lunch. "Alright, Harry. Your... err. B--boyf-- Malfoy? Needs to stop walking around naked." 

Eyes wide, Harry blinked hard at Ron. "He was walking around _naked_?" 

"Errr. well. May as well have been," Ron mumbled, shifting from foot to foot, very much not looking Harry in the eye. 

"Huh?" It certainly wasn't that Draco was incapable of doing so, he just... hadn't expected him to pull that here. 

"Now, I'm not saying this to cause trouble. Hermione said she'd talk to you, but I promised to try instead, which obviously means that I've lost my bloody mind. But yeah." Ron squinted and looked directly at Harry again. "Those Imperturbables Hermione put on your room must really be something because he seriously looks as though he's been mauled by wild animals, Harry, and I didn't hear a thing --which, thank god-- but, how? No wait. Don't answer that." 

Harry pressed the palm of his hand to his own mouth, fingers gripping his very flushed cheek, muttering, "I'll kill him." 

Dismissing that entirely, Ron said, "No you won't. Gah-- any idiot could see that you're actually not sulking around the house looking as if you've lost your do--... best f--... _something_ that should be glad it's not around to be beaten to a pulp for being missing. Just... tell him to wear a shirt down to the kitchen now and then, alright?" 

Face still flamingly bright red, Harry half-nodded. "Right. Sorry." 

Ron thumped him on the shoulder. "There's a mate. Come on. We've got 'sandwiches and group Transfiguration' downstairs in two minutes. Hermione will come looking for you if you're late." 

"OK, yeah. Be down in a second." 

"Your funeral," shrugged Ron as he turned to run down the stairs. 

Harry slumped against the wall and let the hand over his mouth slide up to cover his face with a groan that degenerated into a chuckle of laughter. 

His life was entirely too surreal. Again. 

### 

Draco, however, was conspicuously absent from the lunch session and while Harry was partially concerned, for the most part he found he actually relished the time spent alone with Ron and Hermione. Until, of course, the point in time fifteen minutes into said study session where there was vague reprimand for Ron for speaking with his mouth full, answered by a (very good) question as to why one would be revising over lunch if there was to be no food involved. 

As it stood once it fell out, Ron and Hermione were busily glaring at one another over open books and half-eaten lunches, Harry staring at and unsuccessfully trying to memorize the various ramifications and life stages of animal matter transfigured into advanced minerals. Half an hour later, Harry was certain that the salt cellar had at some point in time been the family cat, and decided that it was time to slip away unnoticed. The glaring had become snarking, with one or the other going out of their way to make every innocent question and reasonable answer sound anything but innocent and reasonable. He hadn't seen this sort of particularly juvenile scene in quite some time, and assumed that something had set them off, not making the connection with Ron's previous topic of discussion-- likely due to the fact that he was busily trying to forget that the conversation had ever happened. 

Pushing his seat back from the table, he cut Hermione off as she opened her mouth, the angle of her jaw telling him that she was about to order him back. "I-- am going to the loo. Back in a bit." 

Hermione blinked, unable to fight that reason for leaving the table, only nodding as he left the room and took the stairs to his room two at a time. When he arrived, however, there was a note affixed to the side table that read only: _Home. Back later. -DM_. 

Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if Draco never went back to his flat. It _was_ of course, entirely possible that he hardly ever did, but that was beside the point. It was fine. Really. All it meant was that instead of sneaking off, Harry ended up rejoining Hermione and Ron at the library table and went back to the the revision. 

Four hours later, he was sitting alone again, Ron and Hermione having given up to take a break before someone ended up the practical demonstration of a choice jinx or two. Engrossed in a new family counterspells for transmutation hexes, Harry didn't look up when the front door opened. When Draco entered the room, however, he glanced up quickly enough to ascertain that it _was_ Draco and grinned before dropping his eyes immediately back to his notes. "Hey. Listen, it's brilliant. I--" 

Then, of course, his brain processed what he'd seen a moment earlier, cut connections to his mouth and forced his head up again. He took a long look at Draco, who was currently dressed in a far cry from even the casual clothing that he wore every day that _still_ managed to make Harry look as if he'd only just rolled out of bed. Immaculately pressed, expensive-looking charcoal trousers; deep green button down shirt of some sort of fabric that looked very soft and very much asked to be touched, barely open at the throat. Harry's jaw sort of dropped just a little bit. 

Draco cocked his chin at Harry, obviously smug to bursting. "I know. I tend to specialize in brilliant without even trying, but yes, I _have_ outdone myself." 

Harry bit his lip and stood. He let the pencil in his hand drop onto his open notebook and slowly circled the table, shoving his hands in the pockets of his beat-up jeans, though his eyes never quite left Draco. "I see that," said Harry as he moved inexorably closer with a small smirk. "What's the occasion?" 

"My b--" Draco redirected that word with barely a pause as he half-held up a small envelope, "reservations. I have a standing date that seems to have cancelled on me, and assume that your company might be acceptable somewhere other than the confines of this... house. Care to join me?" 

Stomach tensing uncomfortably, Harry quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and almost forgetting the fact that he'd really wanted two seconds ago to peel the so very nice clothes directly off of Draco's body. "Standing _date_?" 

With a barely perceptible shrug, Draco drawled, "Yes. Coming?" 

"Oh, so I'm suddenly your _backup_ plan?" Harry found himself saying, annoyed. It wasn't as if he had planned to be anywhere else, but this 'standing date' business rankled him. Especially when no explanation was forthcoming. 

It wasn't late enough that this situation could not have been handled in some way that didn't result in an argument, but this was clearly not an option as Draco's mouth tightened ever so slightly, his shoulders drawing further back. The look on his face clearly recalled any given school day altercation, and his lip curled as he bit off a retort. "Yes, Potter, you were definitely my second choice _today_. Apparently as bad as the first." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Obviously worse. After all _I_ don't rate _that_ ," he snarled, gesturing vaguely toward Draco's clothes. "Whatever. I'm busy." 

Draco lifted his chin and peered down his nose at Harry. "Fine. I seem to have forgotten that I'm better off alone anyway." 

With that, Draco stalked off and Harry's stomach turned again at the look on his face, frustrated that he couldn't just walk away from this sort of confrontation anymore. Actually, he was feeling as if he'd missed something; like Draco had used his attitude as a cover and Harry was suddenly feeling like an idiot for having fallen for it (while simultaneously proud that he'd worked it out and angry at Draco for being an even bigger idiot). As such, Harry hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow, but when he finally did, he ran directly into a very annoyed Ron. 

"Gah. The Ferret was in a hurry," Ron grumbled, holding a small envelope out to Harry. "Dropped this on his way out. Oh yeah - probably because he was busy slamming past me and out the door. Swear, Harry. Can I kick his arse now?" 

Shaking his head and not bothering to argue about it, Harry took the envelope. He muttered, "Let's find out," as he flicked it open and slid out the elaborately embossed card and skimmed it quickly. "Oh. Oh hell." He paused for a moment before handing it to Ron. "I'm so out of luck." 

Frowning, Ron took the card and began to read it under his breath. "'Dearest Draco, blah blah blah, I'm dreadfully sorry, but for the first time in recorded history, I'm afraid I can't make your birthday dinner tonight. I know-- I am disappointed too, but what I said last still stands. Simply _everyone_ is talking about you and this thing with Potter and _I_ cannot be a party to it, no matter how fond you are of your new toy. I know you understand." Ron's voice lifted at the last bit, making it a surprised question, pausing before reading the rest in a rush, "Do owl me when you're done _playing_ with the _Gryffindors_?! Best wishes for a happy birthday, with love from Theo and myself, Pansy Yseult Parkinson-Nott, Bitch Extraordinaire'" 

Harry's attention snapped back to Ron, who shrugged. "Just adding the bit she missed." Shaking the card in hand, Ron fumed, "This... is his friend? Wow. Makes me an' Hermione seem outright.. friendly." His eyes met Harry's as he added quickly, "You know. 'Cos we try. To be friendly, that is." 

Furrowing his brow at Ron at the everskillful backpedal, Harry took the card out of his hand, pondering how he had not had the barest glimmer of an idea that it was Draco's birthday. To be fair, he had no idea what he could have done about it, but at least if he'd known, he could have... well. Tried. 

"Harry?" 

Harry focused on Ron again. "Hmm?" 

"Didn't know it was his birthday, did you?" 

"...No," mumbled Harry. 

"Mate. You are severely f-" 

" _Thank you_ , Ron," Harry said as he distractedly shoved Ron out of his way and walked out of the room, an idea beginning to form in the back of his head. "Hermione? Hermione!" 

### 

Not too much later, Harry Apparated directly to Draco's flat, picking at the collar of the shirt Hermione helped him remember that he owned. Still nowhere near the level of what Draco had been wearing, Harry was certain that he was at least presentable. Tentatively, he called out, "Hello?" as he looked around the room, already headed toward the short hallway. "Draco?" 

"Oh for fuck's sake," was the only (apparently standard) response, muttered and barely audible and coming from the direction of the master bedroom. Relieved that at least Draco was home, Harry quickened his pace. 

He paused in the doorway of the bedroom and cracked an abashed smile at Draco, currently sprawled on his bed with a half-empty glass in hand. "Hey. Happy birthday," said Harry, as he held up the wine bottle that he'd dragged up from the cellars on the vague recollection of having seen the label name before. 

"Well! Look who finally caught on!" Draco drawled, toxic. "Congratulations Boy Wonder! Leave the bottle by the door and go away." 

Braced for exactly that sort of response, Harry shook his head and came closer. "You could have said. I would have--" 

"What? Tried and pathetically failed to outdo my oldest friend? Who, as it turns out, now finds me to be an embarrassment? Me?! Draco Malfoy! An _embarrassment_!" 

"Because of me," Harry mumbled. 

"No, _idiot_ ," Draco spat, disgusted and staring off. "Because of the sodding Dark Lord. You're just... the convenient excuse." 

Harry set his jaw and looked away, face flushed, squashing a flare of anger. "I guess I should probably go, then." 

"If you go," Draco growled, half-sitting up and slamming his glass on the table, "I will find you and... and... beat you senseless." 

With a confused huff, Harry shook his head. "You just told me to go, prat. Make up your mind." 

"That was then," Draco said, still looking ridiculously petulant. "Now I think you ought to stay and try to make up for your grievous trespasses. And it's my birthday, besides." 

"Which you could have told me about to begin with," Harry said, sounding annoyed, though he _did_ take a step closer. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you _wanted_ me to 'grievously trespass'." At Draco's huffy silence, Harry took another step, disbelief evident in his voice. "You did! You wanted an excuse!" 

"...Maybe I did," came the murmured response, and from where Harry stood, he was able to reach out and set the bottle on the night table before crossing his arms. 

"So? Why didn't you take it?" 

"I-- because. Sod it. To hell with her and all of them anyway. It wouldn't have _solved_ anything. I'd be watching my back at all times wondering which were holding Voldemort's defeat against me and waiting for an opportunity for revenge. At least with you, the idiocy is upfront. I don't fit in, but at least it's clear where I stand." Harry covered his mouth with one hand, equal parts sympathetic and amused, and Draco jabbed a finger at him. "Don't say it. I'm warning you." 

Throwing his hands up, Harry managed to say, "What? Nothing about being entirely unable to live without me?" as he planted his knee on the bed and crawled up. He straddled Draco's thighs and sat back with an unconscious sigh, letting his hands drift up the soft material of the green shirt that had begged to be touched and was not at all disappointing. 

Still looking put-out, Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Potter. Stop fishing." 

Not to be dissuaded, Harry leaned forward, already relaxing as he forced Draco further back against the pillows - more like 'encouraged' really; it wasn't as if Draco was resisting in the least. "No? Fine." He brought his hands up and began working at the buttons of Draco's shirt, moving in closer as if for a kiss but diverting at the last moment instead to press his lips to Draco's jaw. 

Draco murmured darkly, "I'm glad you find the fact that my oldest and dearest friends have abandoned me so damn amusing." 

"I'm sorry, truly." Harry met Draco's eyes and kept talking though Draco shied away. "Don't know what I'd do if I were you." He really didn't-- imagining life without Ron and Hermione was nearly impossible. But this wasn't about him. "Wish I could fix it. But don't do it again, git. Next time I might not come looking." Trailing soft kisses down the cords of his neck, Harry murmured, "And that would be a fucking shame." 

"Lies. You're the one that can't live without me," Draco said, stuttering the slightest bit as Harry's breath ghosted across the spots he'd just kissed, the fingers of one hand drifting up to bury themselves in Harry's ever-messy hair. 

"Pfft," rumbled Harry, teeth grazing Draco's Adam's apple, roughly shoving his now-unbuttoned shirt aside. "Maybe I just like having a new way to win." 

Squirming, fingers tightening, Draco breathed, "Philistine. That's --mmph-- Armani Wizarding." 

Harry grinned against Draco's skin, licking a stripe up hs sternum, fingers working at his belt. "Uh huh. Very nice. Nicer off." The belt came away with a snap and Harry held it up as he flashed a grin gone wicked up at Draco. "I could--" 

"No," Draco interrupted hoasely, broken by a whimper as Harry tossed the belt aside, knuckles brushing across the very prominent bulge in his half-zipped trousers. "But ask me again later." He ran his hands down Harry's chest and around his sides, tugging up at Harry's shirt to get to the warm skin underneath with a shudder, lifting his hips just far enough for Harry to shove his undone trousers and pants down and out of the way. 

Hands circling back around to tug at the fastenings of Harry's trousers and shove them off of his hips, Draco sucked in a hard breath as Harry's fingers skated across his hipbone. Harry managed to kick his trousers aside and Draco hooked a leg around Harry to pull him close, gasping at the friction of his cock sliding against Harry's, hips arching up and into the contact as he cupped his hands around Harry's bare arse and squeezed. 

Harry leaned in and went back to lapping and occasionally nipping at Draco's throat and exposed neck, his hand flailing as he reached for the nightstand; yes very much in a rush, consumed by a fierce need to make sure that Draco knew he was in fact not better off alone, better than he could ever verbalize it. He was making clear that no matter how much snark and chaos was involved, Harry was inextricably wrapped up in Draco to an extent that scared him a little; making clear how much he needed this and knew for a fact that Draco did too. 

With a cheekily murmured, "Deviant," Harry continued to map the angles and planes of Draco's throat with his mouth and teeth and tongue, seeking to stifle the half-hearted protest forthcoming. Further driven by Draco's leg hitched higher up his hip and the fingers tightening in his hair, he dragged desperate yet intent fingertips along the inside of Draco's thigh and up, stroking and circling and pressing until breathing properly became even more of an issue. It was all Draco could do to tug hard enough on his hair to get his attention and gasp, "Christ, Harry, just fuck me already." It was already past the point where Harry might have been able to come up with a suitably witty answer anyway, and with his name on Draco's lips just like that, it was all Harry could do to oblige the request. 

###

In the long quiet moments that followed, Harry contemplated a nap as his breathing struggled to return to normal. Harry used his warm, sticky fingers to trail idle shapes along Draco's side and listened to his heart thrum as conducted by his sinew and bone until Draco finally broke the silence. 

"Honestly, how could you not think to find out when my birthday was?" 

"Mmph," Harry mumbled, sated. "Oh yeah? When's mine?" 

"...shut up." 

Harry spoke amused directly against Draco's throat. "Should still go out." 

Though his tone was as snotty as it always was, Harry could feel Draco grinning as he spoke. "Clothes are all messy." 

"So we go somewhere else," Harry suggested with a squeeze. "Come on. Should at least get birthday cake. Or birthday beer." 

Draco muttered affectionately, "Class, Potter. You absolutely exude it." 

"Meh. I manage." 

"God knows how," Draco sighed dramatically. 

Harry looked up and grinned now, too and wow-- at times like this, it was so easy to do. "So? Come on. Shower. Clothes." 

Draco met Harry's eyes, squashing the automatic dread that going out in public here at home seemed to entail. "Fine, fine. If you're that eager to show me off, I suppose I'll play." 

### 

It turned out that when pressed, Draco admitted to knowing charms involved in tidying clothing, which came as no surprise, but Harry made sure to look impressed nonetheless. A decision was made about where they could go for beer and acceptable food, and with a deep breath, they Apparated to the Public Apparation Point in Diagon Alley. 

Certainly, they'd been together in public before. There had been France, obviously; and the Ministry and the Portkey terminal... which of course meant not as much as all that. Harry, however, was still somewhat buzzing on a post-shag high, and hadn't given it a thought, nor had it occurred to him to question Draco's suddenly over-stiff back and bitten lip. 

Harry shot a grin at Draco as they arrived in the Alley, brow furrowing at his almost-grimace in return. Unthinking, he reached out for Draco's arm and squeezed it, leaning in and murmuring, "Alright?" 

Draco cocked his head by way of an answer and Harry followed his glare to find several witches standing nearby watching and chattering behind their hands. "Oi. Clear off," Harry growled, and clear off they did, only muttering and pointing instead of giggling. Pointedly, Harry set his hand low on Draco's back and started forward. "Come on. I'm starved." 

Still glaring, Draco muttered, "My hero," clearly unamused and unimpressed, though apparently willing to walk. "You know. You'd think the Great Harry Potter would be used to the staring and whispering." 

"You'd think the Notorious Draco Malfoy who's coveted it all along would have less of a problem with it." 

"Fuck you," Draco grumbled. "I don't _covet_." 

"Been there. Done that. Fancy another after dinner?" 

"You had better bloody well believe it. Have I mentioned that you're buying?" 

Harry dropped his head barely as he laughed, and Draco almost smiled, or perhaps had until he made eye contact with an onlooker who was neither chattering nor gossiping and looked familiar in a way that made his skin crawl. "Harry, maybe--" 

Just then a flashbulb went off and forced him to blink and swear. By the time his vision came back to normal, Harry was already threatening a hastily retreating reporter and the spectator was gone. Shaking his head, it was Draco's turn to grab Harry by the elbow and pull him away, walking faster than they had been before. "Let's go." 

### 

Fortunately, the restaurant they hit had a no-reporters policy. Once seated in a far corner with minimal staring, Harry shifted in his seat, occasionally glancing up at Draco. It was bad enough that he'd never really had the opportunity to take anyone out properly before, but probably worse that it was now someone he'd been-- err. _Heavily involved with_ for almost two months, and _Malfoy_ of all people to boot. 

Seemingly reading his mind (though more likely his body language and facial expression), Draco peered at Harry over his glass. "Relax, Potter. It isn't as if I was planning a public snog over the appetizers." 

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco. "What, and relive the glory days of being on holiday?" 

"Mmm. No. It was _expected_ there. Here it would just end up on the front page of the bloody _Prophet_ and we'd never be able to come here again." Draco grumbled, stabbing at the food on his plate. 

"Welcome to my world," muttered Harry. 

Draco kept talking. "I mean, can't they talk about how fantastic I am without talking about you? Haven't they talked enough about you for one lifetime?" 

Harry cocked his head at Draco. "I wish. You can have them all to yourself, as far as I'm concerned." He paused and took a long drink. "Never wanted it to begin with. Know you probably don't believe that." 

"Might believe it now," Draco murmured. "Still. Think it's daft. May as well enjoy it, I suppose." 

"Yes, well. Get used to it. It isn't as if I'm going anywhere anytime soon," Harry said thoughtlessly, though once the words were out of his mouth, his head snapped up, visibly tensed because well... there it was. Up until now, they'd skillfully avoided all talk of the 'Why' and 'How' and 'What Next' between them in favor of the 'I Don't Give a Damn What It Means, I Want It Now, Now, Now'. Harry was sure he'd meant what he'd said, though, that much was plainly evident on his face. Their eyes met for another long moment as Draco set the heel of his hand on the table up close enough for Harry to do the same, pressing his palm to Draco's and wordlessly twining their fingers together. 

Today was apparently not the day to discuss it either, however, as all further discussion was pre-empted by the delivery of a chocolate cake in its entirety to the table, dripping with fudge and strawberries and covered in elaborate animated candles. Draco's eyes nearly glazed over, as he released Harry with a squeeze, planted his hands on the table and half-stood in order to better loom over a cake about to meet its doom. 

It appeared that the restaurant also had a policy against singing inane birthday songs to the patrons, which was in fact a boon, as it avoided all manner of rather ugly and unnecessary violence. After Draco had his wicked way with the unsuspecting pastry, the rest was wrapped up and taken back to Draco's flat. Wine, a proper birthday shag, more cake, the bath made necessary by entirely improper uses of said cake, and an impossible hour or two of sleep later, they managed to make it back to Grimmauld Place to an only mildly disapproving Hermione and an only nominally cringing Ron. 

Apparently they hadn't beat the _Prophet_ delivery, and Harry was still amazed and disgusted that something so trivial as who he happened to be seen with would make the front page. Really, he was disgruntled that he was on the font page at all anymore. He _was_ however, endlessly entertained by the fact that his photograph kept attempting to flash a rude gesture at the viewer, and was only stopped from doing so by the standard censor charms. 

Some mornings, it was just easier to see the bright side.

### 

Harry sighed and slumped sideways, setting his head against Draco's shoulder as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses, allowing his fatigue win out over his ever present self-consciousness. "There's no way in hell anything else is going to fit in my head. Nothing. If I don't know it now, sod it. I'm done." 

Hermione looked around at the three boys, she herself obviously long past tired and in no way getting any further revising in before the start of NEWTs tomorrow morning. She slammed her book shut with a sigh and conceded. "You're right. Come on, let's all get some sleep." At Harry's noncommittal grunt, she bit her lip and finally added, "You know, I bet it would be easier if we all were to head over to Hogwarts in the morning together." 

Lifting his head, Harry peered up at Hermione briefly and saw that she was completely serious about _encouraging_ Draco to spend the night, even in the wake of the incident with the shirtless kitchen visit. Immediately, his gaze slid to Ron, who didn't look entirely pleased (or awake), but nodded nonetheless, speaking with a jerk of his head toward Draco. "May as well. Isn't as if we haven't seen his pointy face around here nonstop for the last week as it is." 

Draco, who had been making a show of staring at his open notes, though he'd been reading the same sentence over and over again for ten minutes now, made an unimpressed sound and flipped the page. "As tempting as that gracious offer is, I should probably just go home. I'm sure I can find my own way to the castle. And I wouldn't want to scar your precious psyche, now, would I?" 

Looking from Hermione to Draco, Harry nudged him. "Don't be a prat. She's right." Harry was echoing Hermione's argument, it was true, but he hoped his unspoken reasons were coming through loudly and clearly; mainly that he really would like to have Draco there within arm's reach; warm and oddly comforting, and busily being what Harry wanted more than anything (other than for these damnable NEWTs to be over), all at once. 

Ron muttered something about what he could do with his psyche, but otherwise kept quiet, while Draco caught Harry's look and uncharacteristically opened and shut his mouth once before actually speaking, striving for normalcy by sounding put out. "Whatever. But if we're spending the rest of the week at the castle, I've definitely got to go home first." 

Utterly pleased, Harry nodded too quickly. "Fine, so go and come back." 

"You know, I think I will," Draco smirked as Ron snorted and buried his hand in hands. 

### 

As usual, Harry walked him to the door, watching tiredly from the doorway. "I'm standing right here until you get back, or else I'll just collapse wherever I land, you realize?" 

Draco tilted his head, amused, though obviously just as weary. "At least close the door, git. That way if you collapse anyway you'll slide down with a little more grace than you usually exhibit." 

"Hurry and it won't be an issue." 

"Your utter lack of grace anywhere but on a broom is _always_ an issue, Potter." Draco smirked, sliding his hand around the nape of Harry's neck to steal a brief kiss. "Regardless. I'll be back." 

Harry rolled his eyes as he watched Draco walk out to the pavement, fingers gripping the door tightly. 

As Draco Disapparated, a movement in the shrubbery across the street caught Harry's eye, immediately followed by a second and third ' _crack_ '. Harry straightened, suddenly no longer tired or bleary, eyes wide as he shouted, "RON! HERMIONE!" He threw the door wide and sprinted down the lane, heart hammering in his chest, swearing under his breath. Wand out, he Apparated the moment his feet hit the end of the wards, not sticking around to notice Ron and Hermione practically flying out of the kitchen and slamming into the each other at the door, calling frantically for him with no clue as to where he might have gone. 

### 

Draco appeared at his flat and scowled, realizing that he was standing outside the door rather than in the sitting room. Blearily, he shook it off as exhaustion and pulled his wand to take down his wards and unlock the door. Regardless of how near collapse he might be, however, his many years of subterfuge and watching his own back kicked in. Even as his head came all the way up at the secondary Apparitions nearby, he took a quick sidestep to avoid a bright jet of red light crashing into the door right where he had been standing, the pressure and force of it shoving him another two feet to the side and almost off of his feet. 

Stumbling, he turned to face the origin of the spell and caught sight of at least two figures, a petrifying hex of his own already on its way across the narrow corridor before he had even properly sorted out whether he recognized anything familiar about the voice. One figure went down, but the other moved forward, wand drawn and shouting, "Blood traitor filth!" 

Momentarily shocked as he worked out who the owner of the voice might be, Draco could only stare as Rabastan Lestrange charged the short distance, his face twisted with rage. Draco loosed another curse that missed Lestrange just barely as the much larger man barrelled directly into Draco, slamming his head and shoulders into the wall next to the door. Hard, dry fingers closed tightly around Draco's throat, wand pressed to his temple, heedless of the wand pressed to his own ribs (seemingly useless as no sound was escaping Draco's throat). Draco struggled for a nonverbal spell that wouldn't come, and instead brought his knee up hard and connected squarely with Lestrange's groin. Eyes alight with manic glee, the man only grunted and Draco fought off a suden surge of panic. 

"We're taking you with us. There's someone that wants to see you..." His fingers tightened again. "But he didn't say you had to be alive." 

"I don't fucking think so." 

Lestrange's eyes narrowed at the new voice, though he had no opportunity to do much else as a brightly glowing curse served to yank him off of Draco and spin him into a doorjamb across the way. Lestrange slammed into it with a pained 'oof' and Draco backpedaled, hitting the wall again and hurling a hoarse, yet particularly violent Stunner even as he slid down to sit against it. Draco rubbed at his throat with his free hand as Harry loosed a second and totally unnecessary hex on the crumpled heap for good measure and was instantly crouching within arm's reach, the entire incident over as quickly as it had begun. 

"Draco. Look at me- damn it." Harry set his hands to the sides of Draco's face with unrestrained urgency, peering into his eyes even as Draco swatted at his hands and murmured thickly. All the lights in the corridor were still flickering. 

"Get off, Potter. 'Mfine." He blinked hard, obviously trying to refocus on Harry with a ghost of a smirk. "Bet you never thought you'd hear me say _that_ again." 

Harry pressed his forehead against Draco's with a huff of relieved laughter, hands sliding around the back of his head and up through his hair. "Idiot. Of course you're fine. We have NEWTs to start tomorrow." 

Scoff belied by his hands clamped tight around Harry's forearms, Draco rolled his eyes. "Imagine my joy." 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry smiled, "I swear. I'm not letting you out of my sight anymore." Oddly, it sounded like less of a joke out loud than it had in his head. 

"Muggle video surveillance? I hear that's hot." 

With a small, amused huff, Harry said, "No, prat. Grimmauld. Err. If you want to share it, that is." 

Draco furrowed his brow at Harry, though there was a curious, unfamiliar lift to the corner of his mouth as he began, "Wh--" 

Yet another perplexed voice nearby interrupted none too soon. "Oh, bother." The elderly witch across the hall that Draco had seen only once before was now standing in her open doorway in a brightly flowered dressing gown regarding the bloodied and stunned Lestrange at her feet. "Everything all right, dears?" 

###

> _**MALFOY ATTACKED; LESTRANGE CAPTURED; POTTER A HERO AGAIN** _
> 
> _ 14 June, 1999  _
> 
> _Hogsmeade_ \- Rabastan Lestrange (52) and an unnamed co-conspirator were apprehended last night just outside the Whitechapel flat that until this morning was reportedly leased to a Lithuanian exchange student and his two champion Persian cats. Sources, however, report that the flat actually was actually being let by the infamous Draco Malfoy, a wizard who hardly needs introduction since the announcement of his role in the defeat of self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort-- not to mention his highly public appearances with his (purportedly) recent love interest, the even more infamous Harry J. Potter. 
> 
> According to early information from the DMLE, Lestrange and his accomplice had been stalking Mr. Malfoy for an indefinite amount of time. The pair accosted Mr. Malfoy upon arrival at the flat, but soon discovered that they had chosen a poor target. Mr. Potter was there in the instant they chose to strike, apparently preternaturally tuned in to Mr. Malfoy's welfare, no doubt a result of their eerily intertwined destinies, and was able to dispatch the erstwhile Death Eaters without further incident. 
> 
> "That's just not right," Mr. Potter was quoted as saying, understandably in an agitated state. Mr. Malfoy added, "Exactly. It's not right that law-abiding citizens and war heroes be hunted for doing their civic duty. Which is all we did. At great personal peril." 
> 
> "Such a nice young man, Mr. Malfoy," said neighbor Agnes Bellweather, who witnessed the aftermath of the incident first hand. "Seem a decent sort, he and his friend, both. Death Eaters after him, you say? Terrible business. Never held with them, myself. Should have given the brute that fell against my door a good, hard boot when I had the chance." 
> 
> Lestrange and his accomplice are being held in Ministry lockup pending sentencing. 
> 
>  
> 
> \- Are you in danger from Death Eater-related violence? Warning Signs and Common Sense - page 3  
>  \- Safety tips for the wizards or witches traveling alone - page 4  
>  \- Editorial: War hero or not, _Constant Vigilance_ is key... but it helps to have nearly legendary figures watching your back - page 8  
>  \- London Real Estate: When does it make sense to give up your own flat? - Life, page 1

###

Harry sat heavily on one end of the large sofa in the staff lounge at Hogwarts, eyes very nearly glazed over. He slid his hands up through his hair and fell against the cushioned back, expelling a huge breath that may have been a half-formed swear or possibly a deformed yawn. Ron and Hermione followed, in similar shape, though they arranged themselves somehow in the nearby armchairs. 

"Oh God. I think my brains are leaking out of my ears." Ron slurred, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "Hermione, your brains can't really leak out of your ears, can they? Because that'd be pretty fucked up." 

Hermione had pulled her feet up under herself and turned in Ron's direction just enough to fall against the wing of the chair. "Normally, I'd say 'no', but I myself am inclined to wonder about that just now." 

Slumping further back against the corner of the sofa, Harry brought his feet up onto the cushions and threw an arm across his face. "Four more days of this. I blame this on you, Hermione." 

Not rising to the bait (though Ron _did_ flash a half-hearted rude gesture in Harry's direction), Hermione closed her eyes, "Fine. It's all my doing, but you'll thank me for it later. Though maybe we can do the rest of this with a little more sleep than we all got last night, don't you think?" 

The lounge door slammed open once again and Draco stormed in, stopping dead in the midst of the semi-circle of chairs and sofa. "I look like hell. And I'm about to collapse. This is not remotely entertaining in any way, shape or form. I blame this on you, Potter." 

All three Gryffindors snickered tiredly, as Ron managed to say, "We've just blamed it on Hermione." 

Draco crossed his arms. "Fine. Granger, you're disowned." 

Hermione actually laughed and Ron peered at Draco, confused. Harry, in the meantime, held a hand out to him while neither moving nor taking the other away from his own eyes. 

Casting a glance at Ron and then Hermione and back to Harry, clearly trying to decide what the best course of action might be, Draco finally allowed his shoulders to slump ever so slightly as he walked up to the sofa. He unceremoniously clambered over Harry and squeezed between him and the back of the sofa, partially still draped over him, and somehow _still_ managing to look haughty. Draco lifted an eyebrow in Ron and Hermione's general direction, almost challenging them to say something even as Harry's arm came up around him, obviously not fussed in any way by this development. 

Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say, as it turned out, merely exchanging a half-hearted eyeroll as Draco settled in. Harry murmured, "Hermione's under the impression that we all may survive the rest of the week if we get more sleep." 

"If no one else tries to kill me, and I don't have to spend half the night giving a statement about it, yes; that almost seems possible." 

Ron mumbled, "I'm not allowed and we're supposed to stay here at the castle for the rest of the week, so you're probably safe." 

Harry couldn't help another low chuckle. 

"Wit unparallelled, Weasel," murmured Draco. "I'm infinitely reassured." 

"I swear, the minute Harry decides I can, I'm kicking your arse, ferret." 

Hermione groaned and turned her face against the chair. "Yes, Ron, you barely tolerate Draco. Yes Draco, Ron is beneath your scorn. I think we're all clear on the situation and can do without the dramatics for a few days, right, Harry?" 

When the only answer forthcoming turned out to be a quiet snore, Hermione lifted her head and saw that Harry's eyes were entirely shut, as were Draco's. She stretched out a foot to tap Ron's knee with her toe, cocking her head in their direction as she spoke. "Should probably wake them up and get them off to bed." 

Ron grimaced. "I say we leave them there. That sofa seems comfortable enough. And how many times have I told you that I do not want to hear talk of _them_ and _bed_ in the same sentence?" 

"Too many to be strictly believed, Ronald," muttered Hermione as she stood, rubbing the back of her neck. "Come on. We'll just wake Harry up and then crawl off to wherever we're being put up for the night, alright?" 

As she reached for Harry's shoulder, Draco cracked one eye open and held a finger up lazily, his tone muzzy with sleep and muffled against Harry's sweatshirt. "Don't, Granger. Listen to the Weasel. If I'm lucky, I can drop off before he starts babbling about _breaking news_." 

With that, Draco shut his eye again, allowing his hand drop and went right back to concentrating on letting Harry's slow, even breathing lull him to sleep. 

### 

 

 _ **...Epilogue**_ (the Scene After the Credits) 

Ron and Hermione left the staff lounge, very nearly trudging and easily mistaken for seventh years but for their highly recognizable features. Hermione yawned and looked up at Ron. 

"Did Harry tell you Draco's moving in? As in officially? Permanently? As in gave notice on his flat this morning?" 

Stopping dead in his tracks, Ron squeezed his eyes shut. "You're joking." 

Hermione shook her head. "It's... you know. Great. Harry seems pretty happy about it." 

"...so I'm guessing I don't get to kick his arse anytime soon," muttered Ron, sounding upset by the prospect-- as if it was a treat he'd been promised that had now been snatched away. "The Ferret, that is." 

"No, I'm afraid not." 

"Oh, well. Fuck," Ron swore, as Hermione clucked her tongue at him. 

"Language. Anyway. I err-- don't know that I want to stick around and be in the way, you know?" 

"Pssh. Yeah. _The way_ ," he repeated, looking away, disgusted. 

"So, I was thinking that I _should_ stick around until we get our results back... and then I thought maybe I'd try and find a flat or something. Maybe while I'm job hunting." 

Ron looked more stricken than he had before at the prospect of losing Hermione too. In fact, the very thought was now officially more frightening than the prospect of trying to find a job in the first place. Still, he lifted his chin with a little nod. "Oh, Yeah. 'Course. Expect you'll get every NEWT there is to get." 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione elbowed him. " _So_ , I was thinking I could use a flatmate. Know any of my best mates who might be interested?" 

Ron turned his eyes on Hermione and grinned. "Brilliant! That's my-- our Hermione." He threw an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Knew you wouldn't leave me at the mercy of Harry Potter and the Ferret of Doom." 

Giggling helplessly, Hermione slid her arm around his waist. "We're best when we stick together anyway. And just imagine all the time we'll have now to work out how to exact revenge on Draco in the meantime." 

"Hermione!" breathed Ron, both incredulous and impressed. 

"Thank you, thank you!" Hermione laughed, waving to an imaginary crowd.

Ron ran a hand through his hair, snorting a laugh. "Walk you up to your room, ma'am?" 

"Yes, please, kind sir. For tomorrow we test." Bumping him with her hip as they started up the staircase, she added in a conspiratorial whisper, "...and plot."

**Author's Note:**

> I also feel like I need to apologize for this characterization of Pansy, since she's generally Draco's BFF in my head. If it helps, I totally think of this as an AU to the general fanon in my head.


End file.
